Genny had never been to Pierre’s office before, didn’t even know he had one. She felt her nerves tingle. The hair on the back of her neck came to attention. The only thing Jorge said as he dragged her out of the Hairy Cherub was, “The boss needs to see you.”
She ducked as she entered the back seat of the waiting car. Pedro sat by the window but didn’t look at her. She slid into the middle. Jorge took the seat on the right and shut the door.
“Drive,” Jorge said.
Mohanddas, the driver, put his hands at ten and two, looked over his shoulder, checked and readjusted the mirrors, fiddled with the radio knobs, looked back over his shoulder, flipped the turn signal on, …
“Oh, for Pedro’s sake!” Jorge said. “Let’s go.”
Mohanddas put the car into drive and slowly entered traffic. “Safety first,” he smiled into the rearview mirror.
His eyes met Genny’s, and they had that awkward moment when neither of them knew what to do. Finally, Genny averted her gaze. Well, just the right gaze which looked out the window. The left eyeball continued the staring contest. Unfortunately for the occupants, Mohanddas decided to show why he had won the All-Region Staring Championship two out of the last three years. Genny, who had quite the competitive streak, wasn’t about to let some one-time loser take the environmental club title also. She doubled down on her efforts, willing her lid to stay aloft, fighting the burn, eye grunting and groaning.
“I … can … do … this …,” she swore.
Her cheek began to tremble. Hands shook. She may have wee’d a little.
A loud bang and deployed airbag (passenger side only) put an end to the impromptu competition. She blinked. A whoop of joy came from outside the windshield.
“I win!” Mohanddas gloated, his torso still on the inside. “Piece of advice: never challenge a guy with no eyelids.”
He took a few wheezing breaths and passed to the other side, danced his final waltz, played poker with the grim reaper and lost, ate the spoiled tuna sandwich, began his slow return to the dust from which he came.
Jorge waited with an annoyed look. “You done?”
“Yes,” I said. “For now.”
“Looks like we’re walking,” Jorge said.
Genny was glad she wore her comfortable loafers.
An hour later, they arrived at the clubhouse.
“I’m gonna soak my bunion,” Pedro said, removing his new wingtips with the pointed toes.
Jorge ignored the comment and pushed Genny down the hall. “Pierre’s waiting in his office. Last door on the left.”
The hall was much longer than it first appeared. Pictures of famous members and important patrons hung on the walls, newest to oldest, as though the corridor was a time machine going backwards. Genny stopped to admire a few along the way. Al Gore standing beside the personal jet he would take each morning for breakfast in Paris. The first all-natural-power Greenpeace ship, towed by a pair of exhausted narwhals on long leashes. The Pulitzer Prize winning shot a chimpanzee took of Jane Goodall arriving in the forest.
When she arrived at the photo of their founding member, she knew the hall had ended. She did a little curtsy in front of it. Darwin’s glinty eyes stared down at her, challenging her to a contest.
“Come in, Genny,” Pierre said from inside his office, avoiding another potential disaster. “Shut the door behind you.”
Genny obeyed and took a seat by the window. Pierre got out of his chair and paced the floor, his hands held behind his back in a display of dominance. The silent tension was broken by Pierre.
“I heard some disturbing news,” he said, continuing his slow march across the carpet. “Any idea what I might be talking about?”
“President Clinton’s having an affair?”
Pierre looked more confused than George Bush at a spelling bee. “Where’d you hear such a ridiculous thing. That’d never happen. Not in a million years, especially considering what a fine specimen the First Lady is.” He got all dreamy.
“Hmm.” Genny put her thinking shoes on. “Rosie O’Donnell might be getting a talk show?”
“Worse than that, but you’re getting closer.”
“After the nuclear holocaust, the only plant that will survive is cauliflower?”
“Even worse.”
“What’s worse than that?” Genny thought. “I give up,” she said.
Pierre stopped pacing right in front of her and stroked her hair. Taking hold of her ponytail, he pulled it back with just enough force to tilt her head backwards. She grabbed his hand.
“Please let go. You’re hurting me,” she said.
Pierre pulled back a little more, twisting her neck to the side.
“Did you hear me?” she said. “You’re hurting me.”
He released her hair with a violent push. Genny rubbed her neck and watched the flames in his eyes burn red with anger.
“What’s wrong, Pierre?”
“What’s wrong?” He shook his head in disgust and spit on the floor next to him. “I’m not sure which is worse: your disrespect, your disobedience, or the fact that you have no idea what you did.”
“I’m sorry if I did something to upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it. Was it how I ate the last yogurt in the clubhouse fridge? Let me make it up to you. I’ll go buy a six pack right now.”
Pierre smiled. “Oh, Genny. Sometimes, you are so naïve. What am I going to do with you?” The way he said it scared her. “It has nothing to do with yogurt, although you will be going to get some more.”
Genny watched him take a deep breath and start again.
“What are we here, Genny? The Tortugas, I mean.”
“We’re … we’re a family.”
He nodded. “Right. We’re a family, and for a family to be successful, each member must play a role, have an identity, so to speak. And what would mine be?”
She thought for a moment. “I guess you would be the father figure.”
“Hmm. The father figure. Interesting. I was going for the wise older brother, but I like yours better. Yes. I suppose I am the father figure.” He clasped his hands together. “And what is the father’s primary role in the family?”
“Releasing gas?”
“No, Genny.” A funny odor leaked from behind him. “It’s discipline. The father’s primary role is to make sure everyone does what they’re supposed to, which means there are times, when the kids misbehave, that he needs to punish them. He doesn’t necessarily want to, seeing as how much he loves them, but if he doesn’t, the family structure will break down. Everyone will do what he or she wants. Dishes won’t get done. You’ll eat spaghetti for breakfast. Chaos will ensue. And I can’t allow that. You see, a good father must maintain discipline, order, and sometimes he has to do things that are somewhat unpleasant.”
The fear, which had slowly dissipated, began to return. Stronger this time. Genny’s shoulders tensed. In anticipation of what, she didn’t know. All she knew was she didn’t like the way Pierre towered over her with his hands behind his back.
“Pierre. I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Please. If I’ve offended you in some way.”
He searched her face. “You really don’t know?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t know how you’ve been seeing the guy I told you not to,” he said.
“Which guy?”
“The black guy.”
Genny’s brows scrunched into George Bush spelling bee brows. “I don’t know any black guys. I know a brown one. Someone who’s kind of a mauve. Another who could pass for noir. But black? No.” She paused. “Oh. You mean Country. He’s not black. More of a taupe. A medium maple syrup even.”
“Country. Right. The guy who came with you from Pennsylvania.” He didn’t wait for a response. “If I recall correctly, I remember telling you not to see him anymore, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Genny said.
“But you disobeyed me, disrespected me even, and continued to see him behind my back.”
“No, I didn’t,” Genny lied, her conscious mind finally realizing what the fear in her gut had been telling her. “I haven’t seen him since you told me not to. I would never ….”
A sound like a whip cracking stopped her before she could finish. She let out a soft whimper and reached up to the side of her face. The red outline of four fingers and a partial palm lingered on her cheek. Pierre withdrew his hand but kept it ready to deliver another blow if necessary.
A tear formed in Genny’s eye, not from the pain but from her own sense of betrayal. Her father had never touched her, would never have thought of it. Neither would Country. The only time someone came close was in ninth grade when Johnny Dirk, a senior, got angry with her for turning him down. He ended up with a broken thumb and a newfound respect for Country. But now her new ‘father’, the one who claimed he loved her unconditionally, had struck her. She felt more than confused this time. Deceived. Hurt. Anger. Shame. All at once.
Pierre recognized the emotions. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He reached out his hand for Genny to stand up. She obliged for no reason other than fear. He put his hands on her hips and moved towards her so that their faces almost touched. She turned to the side and looked down. Using a gentle touch like her father would actually have done, he took hold of her chin and brought her face up towards his. His eyes were soft, repentant.
“I’m sorry I had to do that, Gen. I didn’t want to. You must know that. But a father must do things for his children that pain him. Discipline is one of those things. I do it for your good, for the good of the club. If you’re honest with yourself, you’d admit that you brought it on yourself. I simply did what was required, what you needed.”
The semi-apology only sufficed to bring out Genny’s anger. She tried to pull back but his grip around her waist was too strong.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
“Why would I do that?”
“I want out,” she said, this time with conviction.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said. “Once a Tortuga, always a Tortuga. Besides what would Darwin think?”
He brought Genny into his chest. She wanted to resist, her subconscious reflexively pushing her away, but the conscious fear told her it would be a mistake, especially considering the pistol sitting on the edge of his desk, pointing at her like an accusatory finger. For a moment, she thought she might be able to get to it before he did, but in the end, she simply remained in his arms and let his lithe fingers stroke her long, blonde hair.
His lips moved close to her ear. “Why did you do it, Genny? Why did you betray me and make me discipline you?”
She stood there listening.
“He doesn’t care for you. Not like I do anyway. He’s a part of the past, a past you’ve got to put behind you. I know it’s hard, but it’s for the best.”
Her body shuddered and let out a pained sob.
“I would never do anything to intentionally harm you,” Pierre said. “Can you say the same for him?”
Genny didn’t have to think too hard for an answer. The past few weeks, ignoring her calls, ditching her at the party, inviting her to the set, then telling the security guard to send her away. Whether it was true or not, it’s what her brain told her was true.
“No,” she said as soft as newborn doves cry. “No, I can’t.”
Hot tears fell down this time. Uncontrolled streams fed from the spring of loneliness. When Pierre pulled her in, she didn’t resist but rested her head on his chest, inhaling the scent of leather and warm vanilla.
“That’s my girl,” he said. He let go and held her at arm’s length. “I’ve got something special for you to do, kind of a way to let me know you didn’t really mean to hurt me. You willing to do it?”
She brushed away the final tear and nodded. “Of course, Pierre. I’ll do it.”
“Very good. I’ll let you know when I see you at the festival. Now, go on and take care of yourself. I’ll see you this Saturday, OK?”
“OK,” Genny said and walked down the hall.
When the sound of her footsteps faded, Pierre picked up the phone. A few seconds later, a voice came on the other end.
“You have reached the sheriff’s department. Para español, oprima el nueve. Per l’italiano, componi otto. If you know your party’s extension, you can dial it at any time, starting with the pound sign. If this is an actual emergency, hang up and dial 911. If you suspect arson, press 1. If murder, press 2. If you have been shot but aren’t dead, press 22 really quickly. If your neighbors are ignoring the latest executive order, press 3 or use a baton. Your choice. For ….”
Pierre pressed pound and dialed four numbers. The phone clicked a few times, and another voice recording started.
“You have reached extension 4668. I am on another line or away from my desk ignoring the Constitutional rights of citizens. Please leave your name and number, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.”
“It’s working,” Pierre said. “Just a few more days and ….”
“BEEEEP.”
He huffed once and began again. “It’s working. Just a few more days and they’ll be together for many years. Ha ha ha. Ha ha HA ha. Ha ha ….”